A Glitch In Time
by lilVHS
Summary: She let out the smoke in a long and dramatic sigh, the gray wisps curling around her face and dissipating softly in the light of the moon. She stepped forward, her toes dangling off the edge of the concrete. She willed herself to lean forward then, and for the first, and seemingly last time in her life, she flew. AltairxOC (Rated M for violence, language, and other adult themes)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I've had an idea for a fic with Altair for a while now after having played through Assassin's Creed Revelations, so I thought _why not use the precious time I waste doing nothing productively and actually write it out?_ I _never_ usually do stuff like this, and I don't really consider myself a good writer, but eh, I thought it'd be fun, so why the hell not? **

**So... with this being the first fic I've ever wrote, bear in mind I don't know what the hell I'm doing.  
**

 **Enjoy! :)**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of it's characters. Please do not sue me. I'm very broke.**

* * *

The wind blew softly at her legs, almost as if it was urging her forward.

It was a beautiful night to die, she decided. The moon was full and bright, and she swore she could hear it's voice whisper to her. She opened her eyes then, and took in the view of the bustling city below. Bright and vibrant screens flashed advertisements obnoxiously, illuminating the streets below, while the soft glow of neon shop lights gave the city a splotch of color here and there. Every now and then, an occasional honk from an offended driver could be heard.

The city that never sleeps. New York City.

A place where dreams come true.

 _What a fucking joke._

A woman stood still and quiet on the ledge of her apartment balcony, taking a long and deep drag off a cigarette.

This was not the first time she stood here, cigarette in hand, mind set on a task that could only be accomplished once. It was not that she was afraid... No, it was not fear that had previously stopped her. It was... a sense of obligation perhaps?

A feeling of guilt?

She thought about all the previous attempts, and how they always ended with her lying on the bathroom floor in a drunken stupor, occasionally leaning over the toilet to vomit out the words that she could not find ways to express.

When was the last time she cried?

 _11 years old. Mom's funeral._

She absently fingered the silver pendant resting on her collarbone, her thumb dragging over the cool, smooth surface.

She thought about her job for a moment, and how sickeningly good at it she was.

A professional, a genius, a prodigy.

What an incredible waste it would be, if she were to go.

She smiled bitterly at the sheer irony of one that saves lives taking their own. She always loved irony. She always was a sarcastic and cynical bitch.

Dr. Weiss, an expert in diagnostics and various other medical fields. She was a medical genius at only 23, and yet here she was, about to jump off her apartment balcony. What an incredible waste.

She let out the smoke in a long and dramatic sigh, the gray wisps curling around her face and dissipating softly in the light of the moon. She stepped forward, her toes dangling off the edge of the concrete. She briefly thought of her boyfriend, William, who she knew was cheating on her. She honestly couldn't blame him. He was always complaining how it felt to him like she wasn't even trying to contribute to the relationship.

And he would be right.

" _Are you even a human being? Do you even feel emotion?"_

Yes... she doubted he would grieve much over her death. One more reason to get it over with quite frankly. She took one last puff off her cigarette before tossing it into the humming streets below.

"Hm." She mused out loud, "What an incredible waste indeed."

And with that, she willed herself to lean forward, and for the first, and seemingly last time in her life,

She flew.

* * *

Dr. Weiss awoke to the sound of distant chatter and to the intruding light of the sun turning the black of closed eyelids a bright red. She cringed at a sharp and searing pain in the back of her head.

So... this was hell then? It would explain the ungodly heat.

She opened her eyes fully to find herself lying unceremoniously in a cart of hay. How charming.

Wait a minute. What was a cart of hay doing in hell? There were certainly no flames or screams of the damned. She sat up, her back aching, and took in her surroundings. The buildings, somewhat boxy, looked as though they were made of stone and some other material she'd never seen implemented into a building before. She was doctor after all, not an architect.

Several people were walking around wearing strange clothes she'd only seen in the Middle East. They spoke to each other quickly in a tongue she had never heard before, but could somehow understand.

 _Just what the fuck is going on?_

She exited the cart with more difficulty than should've been necessary and found herself wearing the clothes she wore when she jumped from her balcony, plus equipped with her work backpack. She fingered the rough material of the straps slung over her shoulders. _How the hell did this get here? Where am I?_

 _Am I truly dead?_

She noticed with dread and slight annoyance that people were starting to stop and stare at her. She surely must've been quite the sight. A light-haired and pale woman wearing a flimsy white night gown, no shoes, and sporting hair that looked as if she'd just been fucked in a barn. She would've laughed at the situation if it weren't her that was currently dealing with said situation. She gathered she must've looked quite inviting based on the looks some of the passing men were giving her. She grimaced.

 _Fucking fantastic. Not only am I lost, confused, and supposed to fucking_ dead. _But now I look like a whore to all these leering bastards._ Some of whom had started advancing towards her. Highly unnerved, she started to run. Bare feet slapping against stone, people stared at her as she passed. She found herself increasing in pace as her nerves became more unsettled with every hasty step she took. She didn't know where she was running. She didn't really care. Maybe if she ran fast enough she would find herself in the streets of New York once more.

She wandered the streets for a while, attempting to converse with the locals. Though they tended to avoid her like the plague.

 _Must be the appearance._

At one point, with her throat sufficiently parched, she opted to beg a street merchant for some water, but immediately regretted that decision when he threw a rock at her and called her a dirty whore.

What a lovely little town.

After several hours of aimless wandering, she noted with misery that the sun was beginning to set and she still didn't know where she was or if she was even alive. She certainly felt alive, considering her aching back and the unrelenting pain that seared through the back of her head like the slow drag of a knife.

She heard several footsteps then, wild and loud, advancing towards her direction. Startled, she broke into a sprint, uncaring if the footsteps were even meant for her. Panic overtook her, adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she ran like she had never run before. She suddenly felt thankful for all of those morning jogs.

"Oh god." She breathed out, stopping in an alleyway after a while to catch her breath, her heart pounding wildly. "Oh god."

She heard a pained groan then to her right, and she snapped her head towards the source. There, slumped against the wall, was a man. He wore robes of pristine white, a sash of red, and a pointed hood concealing the features of his face completely. His head was leaning forward, drops of perspiration splashing onto the ground from his face while his breaths came out in short pants. She noticed a dark red stain completely soaking his entire left arm, which he clutched with a shaking hand.

 _Poisoned._ She deduced from the potent smell. After slowing her heart rate, she approached him carefully, as not to alarm him. He visibly flinched when she came into view and she could feel his glare on her, scrutinizing her from beneath the shadow of his hood.

The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Excuse me. I can help you. I'm a... healer." She spoke slowly and carefully, gesturing to his arm. _What the fuck am I doing! I don't even know this guy! He could be a murdering psychopath for all I know!_

There was a long, obnoxious period of silence while he just stared at her. Surely he thought she was mad, she must've looked like it, and she certainly felt like it considering the current situation. He said nothing, but made no move to run away or, God forbid, kill her. Her patience running thin, she took that as consent. He was in pretty bad shape after all and could use the help, even from a crazy foreigner.

She zipped open her backpack then, dumping out the contents. On the ground lay her cellphone and earbuds, a hair brush, several pouches of sorted herbs, rubbing alcohol, a first aid kit, her Glock 19, a Swiss army knife, a hard copy of The Great Gatsby, her lighter, and a pack of cigarettes. _Definitely could go for one of these right about now._ She retrieved one of the white cylinders.

The man watched her with pained curiosity as she put the white stick between her lips and produced a singular flame from the lighter with a click and a spark. She took a quick puff.

With her cigarette sufficiently lit, she began to work. She ripped open the sleeve of his shirt to find a _nasty_ looking cut adorning his bicep. It was long, but not horribly deep. It was irritated though, severely so, most likely from the poison. The skin around the perimeter of the cut was angry and red, and pus seeped from within the crack of the cut. She sorted through her memory, attempting to pick out the correct poison and it's corresponding antidote based on the symptoms of the patient. He was sweating profusely, obviously in a great deal of pain hence the shortness of breath, and of course the shaking hands. She reached for his face to feel his forehead, ignoring his flinch as he attempted to retreat further into his hood. She frowned. _So you don't want your face seen, hm? Suspicious._ She held her hand flush against his forehead and cursed outwardly to find him burning with fever.

"Fuck." She could feel his eyes on her, cold and calculating.

She reviewed the symptoms in her head, and focused on the smell. It was potent, and invaded her nostrils angrily. Similar to nail polish remover. The poison clicked in her mind in that next instant. Satisfied on her diagnosis, she retrieved the rubbing alcohol and a select few herbs from her pouches.

"Hold this." She ordered, gesturing to his good arm with her cigarette. Reluctantly, her grabbed the tobacco stick with his index finger and thumb. He inspected the smoking cylinder with a shaking hand.

"Just don't touch the tip. It's hot." With that, she popped the herbs into her mouth and began to chew. Had she been any other woman, she probably would have blushed under his intense stare, but she was no ordinary woman.

Supposedly.

It had been quite a while since she had used herbal medicine on someone, what with all the fancy medical technology coming out that practically did the doctors' job for them. It was a practice that was hardly ever, if at all needed. But it had fascinated her enough to learn it nonetheless.

She grabbed a gauze square and tipped the rubbing alcohol upside down onto the fabric, then spat out the glob of herbs into her other free hand. "Brace yourself, this is going to hurt like a bitch." She laughed at the frown he gave her at her choice of words. She then began to cleanse the wound, and the man hissed loudly through tightly clenched teeth. She laughed again, "Told you."

Once the wound was cleaned to her satisfaction, she immediately smeared the glob of chewed plants into the crack of the wound, until it was completely covered. She ripped the bottom of her gown until she had a decently long strip of fabric, and wrapped the wound tightly. She retrieved a few of the same herbs and rolled them into a ball in between her palms. She handed the man the ball of herbs, opting to trade for her cigarette. She placed the stick in between her lips. "Chew this well, then swallow." He obeyed after inspecting it for a few moments, then chewed the plant ball before swallowing thickly. He visibly cringed at the taste and she couldn't help the smirk that crept up on her face.

The smile didn't last long. _Perhaps this guy can answer some of my questions since I kinda sorta saved his life. Definitely worth asking._ She took a long drag off her cigarette, taking care to blow the smoke away from his face.

 _"_ What is your name?" Said a voice beside her suddenly. It was rich, deep, and dare she say _very_ sexy. She turned to look at him, catching the glint of his eyes from beneath the shadow.

"Dr. Pal- uh, I mean... um," For the first time since she could remember, she found herself stumbling on her words, unable to decide if she should tell this potentially dangerous stranger her last name. "...Ariana." She settled with, recomposing herself. _Surely there's no harm sharing my first name.  
_

"Ariana." He repeated. The name rolled off his tongue in an accent that would have given any other woman chills, but Ariana was no ordinary woman.

Or at least she liked to think as much.

"And you? What's yours?"

"..."

She waited patiently for a reply, only to be met with a soft snore.

She threw her hands up, _fucking great! I save his god damn life and I get shit in return!_ She sighed deeply, unsure of what to do. Should she leave him here? Surely someone must be pursuing him if he got poisoned in such a violent way. She thought back to the angry footsteps she had heard earlier. No, her conscious would not allow it. She would stay, at least until he woke up and fucked off. She plopped down next to him, and took a drag off her quickly depleting cigarette. _And I still don't know where I am or what's going on._ She sighed again, and turned to look at the now sleeping man. Now having time to inspect him fully, she processed what she saw. As previously observed, he wore elegant robes of white with a pointed hood. A red sash was wrapped around the waist beneath a thick belt of leather armor which held several small knives in tiny grooves. Another set of the very same knives rested just above his right shoulder. A deadly looking sword hung from his hip, and his hands, no longer shaking, wore finger-less gloves that had what she assumed to be steel-tipped knuckles. She noted with sick curiosity that the ring finger on his left hand was wholly missing. _Just who are you?_

 _What are you?_

She looked at the sword and knives unnervingly, something she mentally kicked herself for not noticing earlier. _Why do you carry a fucking sword and knives? It's 2017!_

But was it really? The thought exhausted her.

And is if on cue, she suddenly felt _very_ tired.

She crushed her burning cigarette butt into the cold stone of the ground, and leaned her head back. She closed her eyes. Her vision going black. _Falling asleep right now would be a very foolish decision. Don't be fucking foolish._

Correct. It would be bad to fall asleep here, in an alleyway, with a probably dangerous man who had a very handsome voice.

She honestly couldn't find the energy to care. Hell, she had just tried to commit suicide the night prior. _Let him kill me. That is, if I'm even still alive._

And with that final thought she let the comfort of sleep take her.

* * *

"We're expecting a shipment tonight. Stay on constant alert. There has been word the Assassin is here in Jerusalem." The target whispered harshly to two lackeys. "If you see him, scream, yell, do what you must to give away his location."

"Sir."

Sharp, amber eyes watched.

He was perched atop a wooden beam, watching, waiting.

The target retreated back into the tavern, looking over his shoulder once more with unease. Altair scowled. _Disgusting bastard. Your men will not save you from your inevitable demise._

The target was Nahman Kar, the presiding leader over a group of bandits who were as merciless as they were deadly. They were infamous for the gruesome, ritualistic torture they would subject to captured women and children. Because of their strong presence, the group was hired by Templars to instill fear into the general public, prompting compliance. Yes... Kar would die tonight.

Altair moved swiftly along the rooftops, dispatching archers with a throwing knife or a flash of the hidden blade. Standing on a rooftop opposite of the tavern, he launched himself across the gap with powerful legs. For a second, he was airborne, then caught the ledge of a window sill with strong fingers once he made impact with the building. He scanned the side of the building for an open window and, once found, scaled his way effortlessly up the wall towards it. Looking just over the edge of the sill, he spotted a man inside. He was completely alone and hunched over a table scattered with several papers. _How lucky._ It was the target.

He hoisted himself through the window without a sound, and cautiously approached the unsuspecting target. Activating his hidden blade with a _snick,_ he purposely alerted Kar, who immediately spun around and launched himself at Altair in a flurry of sloppy attacks with a dagger. _So he was was expecting me._

Altair dodged all of the attacks with practiced ease. Kar snarled, swiping at Altair like a madman. His movements were erratic and crazed, and somewhat difficult to read. Altair threw a punch at him then, and it connected hard and true with Kar's jaw, jerking his head violently to the right.

He spat out a glob of blood and phlegm."So the rat finally shows itself." Kar uttered in an unpleasant and gravelly voice. He grinned maniacally at Altair then, his teeth rotten and stained red with blood. Altair stood silent, his posture proud and menacing. He glared fiercely at the man from beneath his hood.

"What are you waiting for? Come on Assassin! Show me what you got!" Kar shouted, then charged, his body jerking mechanically.

Their blades clashed relentlessly, and after a long and meticulous fight, Kar started to show visible signs of fatigue, inwardly cursing the Assassin for his inhuman stamina.

Altair crouched low then, and swiped out the target's feet from under him, causing his body to collide with ground with a painful _smack_. With Kar stunned, and groaning with pain, Altair took the opportunity to pounce on him and thrust his hidden blade into the side of his neck. Blood gurgled in his throat, and he hacked and choked, clawing desperately at Altair's arms. His efforts were futile, however, and he went still.

Altair could not deny the slight feeling of pleasure at taking the life of this man.

"You deserve a death far worse than this one." He sneered at the motionless body of Nahman Kar.

He pulled out a single white feather, and swiped it across the gaping hole in the man's neck. He stowed it away in his belt, the feather now stained red with blood. He began to rise from his crouched position when Kar, miraculously still alive, lunged at the unaware Altair and pinned him to the ground. He hissed like a dog, blood spurting through the nooks in his tightly clenched teeth. Kar clenched the dagger with white knuckles above Altair's heart and pushed with all of the strength he had left. Altair grunted with effort, grabbing onto the madman's arms and pushing with equal strength, the muscles in his arms straining. Kar roared loudly in defiance, and in a seemingly last ditch effort to inflict some damage, he leaned all of his weight onto the dagger and successfully cut Altair's left arm. Altair hissed at the pain, then plunged his hidden blade into the target's skull.

Kar went still once more, his eyes glossing over. Now completely dead.

With arms slightly aching and his cut burning, he heaved Kar off him with gritted teeth. Altair inspected the cut. Allah above, it hurt like hell. But now was not the time meander as he then heard shouts and loud footsteps approaching the room. _I will deal with it later, it is not that deep._ And with that, he exited the window and scaled down the wall. He landed on the ground with a grunt.

"The Assassin!" A bandit hollered, his voice projecting loudly. "Get him!"

Altair cursed under his breath and broke into a sprint. He could hear them not too far behind him, and so, choose to take the rooftops. He was about to scale the nearest wall when a sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He slowed. _...What... what is this?_ His vision swirled and blurred, and the shouts of the men behind him sounded muffled and warped. He scowled.

 _The dagger was poisoned. I was too careless._

He stumbled down a nearby alleyway, pressing his body flush against the wall and into the darkness of the shadows. The men ran past in a fit of curses and screams. "Find the bastard!"

Altair let out the breath he'd been holding in, long and slow. He was sweating horribly and had the strongest urge to throw up. And as if on cue, with one violent contraction, the contents of his stomach emerged in the light of the moon, splattering on the ground. He heaved until only vivid yellow liquid was coming up.

Now with the bitter taste of bile in his mouth, stumbling, he made his way towards the bureau. _I need... to get back...  
_

Breathing was exceptionally difficult, and the pain in his arm was growing stronger and stronger. He gritted his teeth, his feet were starting to go numb.

Great.

He felt so... weak. So utterly spent.

Simply unable to walk anymore, his legs gave out and he slumped against the wall, sinking to the ground. So was this it then? Was this the spectacular end of the mighty Altair? He clutched his arm and closed his eyes, attempting to ease the vertigo that had him feeling as though he was spinning around in circles like a child. He groaned.

A pair of feet came into his line of sight soon after, and he didn't even try to hold back his flinch. How had he not sensed a presence? He tried on his best glare as he looked up at them, despite the circumstances. What he saw surprised him.

It was a woman, that much he could tell from her attire and the shape of her body.

Then came her voice, "Excuse me. I can help you. I'm a... healer." Her voice was silvery and soft, and under any other circumstance where he wasn't _poisoned,_ he would have found it soothing.

He stared at her openly, scrutinizing. She wore a silken white dress that fluttered around her legs like shimmering waves, some kind of black sack on her back, and a silver chained necklace that hung elegantly from her slender neck. Her skin was pale, and seemed to glow slightly under the light of the moon. Her hair was a long golden blonde, but was horribly tangled and frizzed, with a few pieces of hay comically sticking out here and there. Her face was beautiful, with profound eyes of emerald and rosy lips set in an attractive pout. She looked like a ghost. Or an angel.

He figured he had died.

She hefted her sack over her shoulder then, and emptied the contents of the bag onto the ground. He recognized what appeared to be a book, some herbs in strange see-through pouches, and... a hair brush? The rest of the items were foreign to him. _Just what kind of healer is this woman?_

He watched as she held some kind of white stick up to her lips and produced a tiny flame from a strange small rectangle with a click and a spark. She held the flame just beneath the end of the stick, and smoke began to rise from it's edge. The burning edge of the stick glowed for a moment then, and she removed the stick from her lips to let out a long stream of foul-smelling smoke.

 _What is this sorcery? How is this woman producing smoke from her mouth?  
_

She ripped open his sleeve to fully expose the wound then, and he let her. He didn't detect any malicious intent. Indeed, she was strange, but he certainly wasn't about to turn down free healing. After all, she couldn't poison him _more._ There really wasn't much to lose.

The woman sat there for a moment, her face scrunched in thought before she reached her hand toward him. He flinched again, and retreated further into the shadows, but ultimately allowed her to press her hand flat against his damp forehead. Her hand was cool.

It felt wonderful.

"Fuck." She cursed, retrieving her hand. His eyes snapped back to her and he stared. _What kind of woman uses such unsavory language?_

"Hold this."

She gestured to his good arm with her smoking white stick. He faltered for a moment. What if the stick was some kind of bomb?

 _Eh, caution be damned._

He grabbed the stick with shaking fingers and inspected it with genuine curiosity despite the pain. The stick was light, almost feather light, and a portion was an orange color as opposed to white.

By Allah he hadn't the foggiest idea what it was.

"Just don't touch the tip. It's hot." he redirected his stare back to her to find her chewing on what he assumed were the herbs.

 _What a strange woman..._

His vision unfocused then, and he momentarily zoned out until the sound of her speaking garnered his attention.

"Brace yourself, this is going to hurt like a bitch."

He frowned at her strange and inappropriate dialect, and she laughed. The laugh was clear and light, and as much as he wish he didn't, he found it pleasant.

She pressed a soaked piece of fabric to the cut then, and he hissed at the sting, harshly clenching his teeth until they groaned.

She laughed that laugh again. "Told you." Her emerald eyes found his and she smiled. He'd never seen eyes of such a vibrant green. They fascinated him.

 _Stop that. Such thoughts are dangerous and irrelevant.  
_

She rubbed and dabbed at the wound with steady, practiced hands. The sting immediately began to ease after she smeared her chewed mush on and around the cut. He watched closely as she ripped the bottom of her dress, producing a makeshift bandage, and wrapped a generous portion of his arm tightly but carefully. The pain continued to cease, albeit slowly. A bead of sweat dropped from the tip of his nose.

She held out a compact ball of herbs to him. "Chew this well, then swallow." He handed her back her smoking white stick and grasped the ball in between his fingers, scrutinizing it. It certainly didn't _look_ menacing, and it seemed like this woman was genuinely trying to help him since the pain in his arm was now a dull ache as opposed to the searing, sharp pain he had felt earlier. Seeing no other option, he popped it into his mouth and began to chew.

It tasted abhorrent.

With difficulty, he swallowed the lump of chewed plant thickly, and cringed as it slid down his throat like a brick.

She lifted the burning stick to her lips again, the end glowing a bright orange for a generous amount of time before she blew out another thick stream of smoke. For the first time in _very_ long time, Altair found himself mesmerized.

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, "What is your name?"

She turned to look at him, and replied. "Dr. Wei- uh, I mean... um," She paused, her eyes flickering with thought.

"...Ariana."

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"Ariana." He repeated the name, testing it out. He liked the way it sounded on his tongue.

She said something then, but he didn't have time to catch what it was before darkness consumed him.

He fell asleep with the taste of herbs in his mouth and the smell of cigarettes in his nose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Took a hot minute to complete this chapter. I wasn't sure where I wanted to take things at first, and it took me a couple tries to get something satisfactory... but I did it!** **Still don't know what the hell I'm doing, but I truly am enjoying it.**

 **Also a great big thanks to those that left positive reinforcement!**

 **So... without further adieu... I give to you... Chapter 2... (funny how that rhymed)  
**

* * *

 _Ariana Marie Weiss. Born June 1, 1994, her parents Evan and Julia Weiss. Although she was a lovely little thing, with her mother's golden hair and her father's emerald eyes, she was unwanted._

 _An accident._

 _Evan and Julia were both masterful physicians, well known for saving droves of lives across the seas in poorer countries. They both agreed to never have any children, as neither had the time nor the desire to care for a child. But alas, some such things cannot be prevented at times. When Evan found Julia one morning hunched over the toilet, her retches echoing in it's ceramic bowl, he knew without an inkling of doubt that she was with child. When the small white stick proved him right with a little symbol indicating a positive result, Julia sobbed._

 _She would never abort. She would have the child._

 _Evan wanted the child put up for adoption. He proposed it to Julia one night while they ate._

 _"No!" She had screamed, slamming her palm on the table, the dishes and glasses clattering from the force. "I refuse to give away my baby... after all I have been through, all I have seen..." Her voice cracked, a sob threatening to burst. Evan's face remained a mask of indifference, his eyes steely and cold. She looked at him, tears now openly trickling down her cheeks, eyes pleading. "Evan_ please _! I need you... I-I need you to support me on this... I c-can't do this alone!"_

 _There was a pregnant pause while Evan wrung his hands with brows creased in frustration. After several minutes of silence he finally responded._

 _"I will..." He swallowed thickly. "I will... accept this child."_

 _And so, a baby girl was born, and they named her Ariana._

* * *

Ariana was falling.

With her body suspended in the air, the wind howled ferociously in her ears as gravity pulled her down with a force that could move mountains. With long hair whipping her face, she found herself unable to move, body lolling around at the mercy of the wind like a rag doll.

She was surrounded by darkness, but she swore she could hear the bustle of the New York city streets. She closed her eyes. No... she was not afraid.

 _I am not afraid._

The next moment in which she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on the ground, body supported by exquisitely designed pillows; still alive.

So it was a dream then. She had hoped it were the other way around, and that the day prior was actually the dream. But alas, perhaps this was her comeuppance for trying to take her own life. Trapped in a never ending cycle of confusion on whether or not she was dead or alive.

She frowned at that thought.

So... she was still in the strange, supposedly Middle Eastern city. Well... this certainly wasn't where she expected to awaken. She fully expected to find herself stripped completely naked in a back alley with all her belongings stolen.

She suppressed a groan as a headache began to crawl its way into her skull.

"This is foolish, Altair..." A voice echoed slightly behind her then, and she went completely still, listening intently. The voice was deep and raspy, and had a familiar accent.

"She saved my life." Another voice replied. Ariana stiffened, every muscle tensing. She recognized that voice.

It was _him._ The strangely dressed man with the hood whom she'd treated the night prior. So his name was... Altair? She mouthed the named silently.

"She is a skilled healer. Something we could use at Masyaf."

"We have Zahir for that."

"Zahir pales in comparison! He is an amateur!"

"Stubborn _ass_! What do you know of healing and medicine? Hm?"

There was a lengthy pause of uncomfortable silence. She figured the two men were glaring at each other.

"Enough." Altair spat back.

"You... you are out of your _mind._ First, you bring this... this backstreet _whore_ into the bureau, and now you try to convince me that she should replace Zahir in the infirmary at _Masyaf?_ "

"Yes."

Ariana gritted her teeth in anger, but remained perfectly still. Backstreet whore? Really?

 _Asshole._

There was the sound of shuffling cloth then, "Malik, The wound is already closed, and I am no longer sick from the poison. Her concoctions worked in a matter of _hours._ " The other man, Malik, supposedly, sighed loudly through his nose.

"I will send word back to Masyaf. We will let Al Mualim decide what to do with her." She felt two pairs of eyes on her then, and by God, she should've won an Academy Award for how well she feigned sleep in that moment. "Just what kind of business does a European woman have in Jerusalem?"

She repressed the urge to gasp, her eyes widening. She silently thanked God that she was lying down, for she suddenly felt very lightheaded. The pain in her head increasing.

Jerusalem. She was in Jerusalem.

She had a feeling she was somewhere in the Middle East, but Israel? Why Israel? Why Jerusalem? She had so many unanswered questions and it was driving her insane. She took a long and slow breath, taking care to keep it silent.

 _Ok so... Jerusalem. I've somehow managed to jump from my apartment balcony into Jerusalem. It's fine... I'm fine. I can deal with this. Adjust and deal, adjust and deal, adjust and deal._

Adjust and deal. Something she was an expert at considering her profession. She dealt with sticky situations on the daily back at the hospital, having to make decisions with a snap of her fingers while under considerable amounts of pressure. This was no different.

And yet... it was all together different at the same time. She closed her eyes, her mind working furiously.

She analyzed the conversation the two men were previously having. Based off of where she was currently lying, she gathered the hooded man had awoken before her in that alleyway, taken pity on her, and brought her back to this place.

 _No... he had said he was impressed by my skills. He wants me to work in the infirmary at this Masyaf place..._

Telling them the truth was out of the question. They would never believe her. They'd probably find her mad and toss her back out on the streets. _No good... that would leave me back at square one.  
_

She could feign Amnesia. She'd be able to ask all of her burning questions under the guise of a lost memory, and would hopefully garner pity from the other prickly man, Malik. She would work at this infirmary for a time, and fly back to the States once she'd earned enough coin. Hell, maybe they had reception or a telephone of sorts available there so she could call one of her coworkers to pick her up. It was a sound, and favorable plan. One she intended to put into action.

She pretended to stir then, rolling onto her back and dramatically stretching her arms above her head, yawning loudly and widely.

"So you're awake." A voice spoke to her; Altair's.

She sat up, stretching her back. "Good morning to you too." She stood slowly, now standing at her full height. Her eyes flicked to the other man in the room. He stood behind a counter with large, yellowing papers resting on it's surface. He wore similar white robes as Altair beneath a dark blue sleeved cloak. His face was handsome, with his most noticeable features being a strong nose with a charming hook, and fierce dark eyes that were currently eyeing her with skeptic scrutiny.

Oh, and of course, the missing arm.

 _So one has a lost finger and the other a lost arm._ What was the deal with all the missing appendages? She was expecting another man to enter the room wholly missing his lower half or something of the like.

Malik shifted his weight, eyeing Ariana carefully. "What is your name, woman?"

She sighed, her head now sufficiently pounding. "Ariana."

"What business do you have in Jerusalem?" He asked, repeating his previous inquiry.

She put an exasperated look on her face then. "I... don't know. I awoke just yesterday in a cart of hay with no memory of who I am or _where_ I am." She thought for a moment, pulling exposition out of her ass. "I only know my name... and that I was a... a-a healer of sorts." She wrung her hands. _Please buy it._

"Yes... a healer. So I have heard." He replied, resting his hand on the counter. His eyes flashed with an emotion she could not read. "Amnesia. That is quite a predicament. What do you suppose you'll do?" He watched her closely.

She repressed the urge to smile. He was a clever one. He was testing her, to see if she'd mention working at the Masyaf infirmary, ultimately giving away the fact that she heard the tail end of their conversation.

She chose her words carefully. "Well, I was hoping in exchange for saving this one's life last night," she nodded her head towards Altair, "That I might receive some help." She crossed her arms. It was a demanding request in and of itself, but she kept her tone light and compromising.

 _Your move Malik.  
_

He frowned. "Just what kind of help, exactly, were you hoping for?"

She let her arms drop and sighed dramatically, her eyes falling to the ground. "...I dont... know, really." The tone of her voice shifted to a quiet and defeated murmur. It was all very purposeful, and it seemed to do the job well.

Malik exhaled sharply with a quick huff, his hardened face softening ever so slightly. He gestured with his arm towards Altair, "He speaks very highly of your skills, Ariana. We _might_ be able to give you a temporary home until your memory is restored. That is, if you are willing to work."

She grinned in earnest.

 _Got em._

* * *

It would be several days before they received any word from Masyaf.

Ariana spent the majority of her time inside the bureau biding her time patiently. She opted out of speaking to Altair or Malik, lest she accidentally let something slip that would give away the fact that she didn't _actually_ have Amnesia. And so, she would sit quietly on the pillows in the corner of the room, reading _The Great Gatsby_ silently. Occasionally sending a glance toward Malik, who never seemed to leave that damn counter.

It was on her third day at the bureau when his voice rang out suddenly. "For how much longer do you plan on staring at me? It really is quite distracting _."_

She cracked a smile, closed her book and looked up at him. The question left her mouth before she could stop it, her curiosity taking control. "What is it exactly that you do for hours on end up there?" She lifted herself up from the pillows and made her way towards the counter, leaning against it to inspect the papers resting on it's surface.

He looked up at her from what appeared to be a map before replying. "I am a cartographer. I make maps, which tends to take a great amount of time and patience."

She stared down at the beautifully drawn map in genuine awe. "Impressive... You drew this yourself?" To which he nodded, obviously pleased with the praise. It was then that she spotted a date at the top corner of the paper.

1192 read the year.

A wave of nausea overwhelmed her then. Her eyes unfocused, and her knees gave out, causing her to collapse to the ground. Her heartbeat pounded loudly in her ringing ears.

"...Wha...H-How? How? ...How...is that possible...?" She whispered to herself, staring at her blurry hands, which shook violently. She'd never felt more confused in her life.

Not only was she somehow in Jerusalem, but _11th century_ Jerusalem. Had she somehow magically traveled back in time? But why the 11th century? And why _Jerusalem_? Nothing continued to make sense, and she absolutely _hated_ when things didn't make sense. Questions continued to build with no answers and it was positively infuriating.

Malik had leaned over the counter not a moment after she collapsed, "Ariana? Are you alright?" His voice, laced with concern, brought her back to reality and everything refocused. She forced her hands to still and took a long and deep breath before standing back up with the help of the counter's edge.

 _Adjust and deal._

She smiled at him weakly, "I'm fine. I just...just had a... a-um... flashback of sorts." Try as she might, she couldn't hide the slight shake in her voice.

He stared at her with furrowed brows. "Did you remember anything?"

"Oh...um, no." She gestured towards the pillows with her head, "I think... I need to lie down for a while. Excuse me." He nodded his head at her in solemn understanding.

She lay on the pillows and closed her eyes, but did not sleep.

So much for flying back to the States, which didn't even _exist_ yet. Her cellphone was now useless and her cigarette supply severely limited. Everyone she had ever known, hell, _everything_ she had ever known;

 _Gone._

A single tear slid silently down the side of her face and into her ear. She would say to herself that it was the result of an irritated or dry eye.

What was she to do now, with her plans effectively gone to shit?

 _Well, I could always just fucking off myself again, although I don't seem to be very good at it._ She smiled bitterly.

She thought about Altair for a moment, and their previous interactions.

It was just after Malik had approved her to stay at the bureau that he had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her off to a different room.

He turned to face her. "I wish to properly thank you for saving my life." He bowed his head slightly, the shadow of his hood covering his face entirely in darkness. "Thank you."

She felt a slight heat burn just beneath the skin of her cheeks. Sure, she'd been thanked before by patients and the like, but this... this was somehow different. She cleared her throat, now fiercely aware that he was still grasping her wrist. "You're welcome. It would've been a weight on my conscience if I had left you there while I had the means to save you." She tried for a smile. "Although, it really should be me thanking you. For taking me here, that is."

He raised his head then and let go of her wrist, and she denied the fact that it disappointed her. "As you said, it would have been a weight on my conscience if I had left you there." He smirked then, the lower half of his face now visible. She stared unabashedly, finally getting a glimpse at the face of the man she'd saved. He had full, bow-shaped lips where a slim scar sliced vertically through the right side and a sharp, strong jaw dusted lightly with morning stubble.

 _My God... that jawline could cut a man._

He scratched the back of his head then. "You should remain here until I am able to procure you some new clothes."

She looked down at what she was wearing and cringed. _I guess your everyday Isreali woman doesn't walk around in a nightgown._ "Uh... yeah. That would be um... that'd be great." She wrung her hands and looked at where she assumed his eyes were. "I'll pay you back, I promise."

He waved a hand. "Not necessary." And with that, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving her standing there, unsure what to do or what to think.

She awoke the next morning to find a package resting a few feet from her head. In it, a set of simple women's clothes.

She thought then of her second night there, when they were seated on the roof of the bureau, watching the sun make it's theatrical exit beneath the horizon, the light casting an orange glow over the roofs of the proud buildings of Jerusalem. It was a truly beautiful sight, and for a moment she found herself forgetting her predicament. She was at ease. At least until Altair spoke.

"Well? Anything?" He turned to look at her expectantly and she sighed.

He had brought her up to watch the sunset in hopes it might jog some memories. She had protested, but he was insistent.

While Altair was able to scale the bureau wall like some kind of fucking monkey, for her, it was a major pain in the ass.

She continued to wonder about him. What he was, what he did while he was frequently gone, and what he looked like. He was an enigma to her, and she couldn't help but find it endearing.

She looked at him, and she realized with surprise that she could see the entirety of his face clear as day through the hood with the light of the sun shining right on it. She drank in his appearance. He had a long and straight nose that complemented his sharp, chiseled facial features _perfectly_. Dark brows rested over his eyes. And _his eyes._

She was lost in them. They were sharp and intense, their color glowing golden in the light of the sun. She'd never seen such beautiful eyes in her life.

To say he was handsome would be a gross understatement.

She realized with a visible jolt that she was openly staring at him again and not answering his question. She turned her gaze to the sun then, hoping the colored light would hide the redness in her burning face. _Wait a minute, what? I'm fucking Dr. Weiss I do_ not _blush like some kind of love-sick school girl._

"Oh... um... no, unfortunately. It really is a beautiful sight though, don't you think?" She noticed with dread that her voice had gone an octave higher and sounded just plain _wrong._ She mentally kicked herself. _Am I actually fucking embarrassed? Oh god. What the fuck._

She could see him still looking at her out of her peripheral vision. "Yes, it is." He replied simply, turning his attention back to his front. There was a pregnant silence then, and she thought she might burst from discomfort. Silence was awkward to her, yes. She was a woman whose mind was constantly moving, and like the gears of a finely tuned machine, _had_ to continue to move to keep the machine running smoothly. However awkward she felt, she detected absolutely no discomfort from the man sitting next to her.

She chanced a glance at him then. His posture was the epitome of complete relaxation, and a small, contented smile graced his lips.

It was at that moment that she came to a stark realization that the only one making the situation awkward was her. _How ironic_. She learned to appreciate silence that evening and how words and feelings could be conveyed without a sound.

She was surprised to find herself smiling at the memories. She still didn't know _what_ exactly Altair and Malik were, but she found herself actually enjoying their company. _Especially Altair._ Which was a rare occurrence, truly.

So, 11th century Israel then? It could be interesting, perhaps, working at this Masyaf place and furthering her understanding of herbal medicine. She suddenly didn't feel as inclined to take her life anymore.

 _Yes... maybe, just maybe... I can make this work._

* * *

It was her fifth day at the bureau, and she was reading her hard copy of _The Great Gatsby_ when the sound Altair's voice interrupted her.

"We've received word from our Mentor. He wishes to meet you." She looked up at him. "We will ride for Masyaf tonight."

"Uh... ride?"

He looked at her, his eyebrows furrowing. "Yes, ride. We will ride horses." He spoke to her like she was mentally slow, and she gritted her teeth.

 _Oh for fuck's sake._

Ariana had lived in the city for as long as she could remember. Thus, the need to learn how to ride a fucking _horse_ in a world of cars was... well... unnecessary. The situation was absolutely laughable, and she couldn't help but feel amused.

"Ok, so... don't hate me but... I haven't the foggiest idea how to ride a fucking horse." She opted to give him an apologetic smile, hoping it would soften the blow.

He stared at her, incredulous, and taken aback slightly by her harsh dialect. He frowned. "Very well, you will ride with me then." And with that, he spun on his heel and made to exit the room.

"Wait!" She called to him, and he stopped, turning his head to the side to acknowledge he was listening.

"Teach me."

He turned fully to look at her then, "Teach you what? How to ride?"

She nodded. She wasn't about to be a burden. No, no, no, she was not about that. "Just the basics will do. So I'm able to operate the horse without spontaneously bursting into flames." Altair chuckled at that, and she smiled. _He has a nice laugh._

"Yes, I suppose it would be preferable if that were avoided. If that were to happen, I do not think I would be able to douse the flames of both you and the horse." His voice was entirely serious but the smirk on his face gave away his amusement. Ariana gasped loudly then, putting a hand to her chest in mock surprise. "My God! So he has a sense of humor!" He grinned before turning on his heel once more.

"Come on then, we haven't much time."

"As you say... _mentor_." She said with laughter in her voice before following him out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again! I'm back with another chapter!  
**

 **I think I'm starting to get used to organizing my thoughts in more efficient ways. This chapter came to me a lot easier than the last one, although I will say I did redo it more than once. I can say truthfully that the end result is something I'm satisfied with.**

 **Even though I _still_ don't really know what the hell I'm doing, I'm having a great time writing this thing. It's such a great way to pass the time and get my creative juices flowing.**

 **Anyways... I give to you... chapter 3!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of it's characters.**

* * *

 _The little family lived in a mansion. A luxurious estate filled with bookcases upon bookcases of valuable knowledge just waiting to be discovered. Ariana was a spoiled child in the sense that Evan and Julia granted her whatever she wished. But not so much in other ways._

 _She was only 4 years old when it began; the learning._

 _Julia sacrificed her career so she could stay at home with Ariana, teaching her new things every single day._ _She was a stern and strict teacher, but also very patient and understanding._ _She immersed her daughter in tomes of chemistry and mathematics, anatomy and physiology,_ _sociology_ _and_ _psychology_ _. It was a harsh regimen for just a child, but it was all Ariana ever knew.  
_

 _Ariana spent nearly every day with Julia for the majority of her childhood, and because_ _her parents sheltered her so, her mother was essentially her only friend._ _  
_

 _If you could even call it a childhood._

 _How badly she wished for friends. To play._

 _She would often ask Julia, "Why do I have to keep learning mommy? I want... I-I want to... play..."_

 _But Evan and Julia had a vision for their daughter. They aimed to raise a genius. A child that would leave a lasting mark on the world._

 _Julia would always give the same answer. "It's what your father and I wish for you, sweetheart. I know it's hard right now, taking all of this in. But you have to trust me. This knowledge will serve you well in the future when you're much, much older. For now, think of it as working towards a greater cause." And that would be the end of that._

 _When Ariana was 6 years old, she defied her father for the first time._

 _Her relationship with Evan was... less than desirable. He was a busy man, and because of this, he hardly ever had time for her._

 _It was on a weekend, and Evan was home. Evan would always teach and interact with her on the weekends when he was free, drilling her relentlessly throughout the day. He was strict and stern much like Julia, but in him, there was no patience to be found. There was_ _always a_ _deep-seated fear she held towards her father._

 _"Wrong! Recite it again!" His interrupting and disapproving shout would tear through her like a knife.  
_

 _Ariana glared at him, her big eyes shimmering with frustrated tears. "...No..." She had murmured softly.  
_

 _"...What the fuck did you just say?" His voice was calm, but had such an edge it could've cut._

 _Her heart beat pounded ferociously in her chest._ _"No." She said louder and with more finality in her tone.  
_

 _A loud_ smack _had echoed throughout the room, and then there was pain. A stinging, burning pain in her left cheek._

 _"Recite it again." His voice was ice. "Now."_

 _She hated Evan. She hated him. She hated him. She hated him._

 _When Ariana was 11 years old, her mother was killed in a car accident._

 _Julia was Ariana's everything. Her mentor, her role model, her teacher, and her only friend. The only one she had truly loved.  
_

 _She had stood there silently at the funeral, uttering not a single word to those who tried to comfort her. It was when they lowered Julia's casket into the ground that the tears stopped flowing from her eyes when a new, foreign emotion seemed to take over;_

 _Numbness._

 _Her mind went blank and her eyes dulled. Along with Julia Marie Weiss, something in Ariana died too that day._

* * *

Learning how to ride a horse was easier than Ariana had anticipated.

She had thought arrogantly that she was probably a natural; some kind of horse-riding savant. Able to simply hop on any horse's back and take off, riding into the sunset.

In actuality it was probably because Altair was a really good teacher. His astounding patience reminded her of her mother, and she often found herself absently fingering the silver pendant that hung from her neck.

They had started out with a relaxed canter for Ariana's sake, and once she started to grow more comfortable, they increased their speed to a gallop.

They had been riding for several hours when the darkness of night was fully upon them.

Altair brought his horse to a halt next to a tree with a thick trunk and dismounted with practiced ease. "We will camp here for tonight."

She gaped at him like a fish. "Wait... we're sleeping _here?_ On the _ground?_ "

She could tell he was giving her a look. "Do you have a better suggestion?" He crossed his arms.

She did not appreciate his sass. She was from New York City for fuck's sake, she was not the camping type. "Jesus Christ. Alright, fine. I'll sleep on the ground." She ran a hand down her face. _And probably get bit by a million fucking bugs._ She dismounted her horse then without nearly as much grace as Altair, and laid out some blankets while he got a fire started.

Later, they were seated around the fire silently watching the flames dance when Altair spoke.

"Ariana... If I may-" She turned to look at him.

"-What was the purpose of that smoking white stick you held in your mouth the day you found me?"

She stared at him for a while before throwing her head back in laughter. He canted his head slightly, unsure as to what was funny. He voiced his inquiry. "What? What is so funny?"

His description of a cigarette wasn't even that funny, but she laughed until her stomach ached, seemingly letting out all of her pent up stress. She wiped a tear from her eye. "Ah... God, that was good. Let me tell you Altair, I haven't laughed like that in a long, long time."

She rummaged through her sack then before pulling out a box with foreign lettering on it, and from that box, the small white stick in question. She held it up. "This... This is called a cigarette. It really serves no purpose other than to make the one smoking it feel good." She turned it in the firelight. "...and cause cancer."

"So it is a drug then?"

"Yeah, I'd say so." She looked thoughtful then, choosing her words carefully when she spoke. "From what I remember... people where I'm from use them to ease stress." She held the cigarette above one of the flames until the edge began to burn. She put the stick to her lips and took a long and deep drag, blowing the smoke into the flames. Altair watched her closely. "Although... the cons really do outweigh the pros. Nicotine sure as shit is hard to get off of once you start."

"Nic...otine?"

She nodded. "It's the active drug in cigarettes. Highly addictive." She held it out towards him. "Wanna try it?"

He shook his head and held up a hand. "I have sworn to never partake in the consumption of mind-altering drugs."

"Alright then." She cracked a crooked smile. "More for me."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while then, listening to the steady crackling of burning wood and watching the flames bend and curl. Occasionally, Ariana would blow out a long stream of smoke. It was nice, she decided, sitting with him by the small fire, cigarette in hand.

She frowned slightly then, but it was hardly a frown. More like a downward twitch of her lips. She had stored her burning questions in the back of her mind, prioritizing her immediate situation over satiating her confusion. The questions always managed to slip forth though, biting and nagging for her attention like an annoying fly. She considered telling Altair the truth for a moment. Perhaps he actually had the answers for her phenomenon, and could provide her with a way to return to her time; the present.

But then there was the more likely option in which he didn't know what the hell she was talking about, think she was out of her mind, and ditch her. Maybe even kill her if he felt like it. He certainly seemed more than equipped to do so. What with all the sharp weapons he was sporting on his body alone. Who knows, maybe he had a myriad of other deadly sharp things hidden underneath his robes. The thought amused her.

Her voice cut through the silence then, voicing the question at the forefront of her mind. "Tell me more about where you're taking me, Altair." She asked, shifting her gaze from the fire to his silent form. "Masyaf; I believe it was called."

"Yes." He replied, his tone shifting to something more serious. "In Masyaf resides a fortress filled with-ah... with soldiers." He turned to look at her then, the light of the fire making his amber eyes glow a vibrant gold. "I have confidence in your healing skills, and believe you could be a useful asset to the cause."

She stared into the fire, her eyes going out of focus. "To the cause, eh?"

 _"For now, think of it as working towards a greater_ _cause."_

Her mood deflated then, and she felt the slow, creeping return of the same numbness she had felt for many, many years. Her eyelids faltered slightly then, and her eyes dulled considerably. Her facial muscles went completely slack, any expression of emotion completely wiped clean. Altair seemed to notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

"You are upset. Did you remember something?" His voice was quiet and low, but she heard him loud and clear.

"Yeah." The word slipped past her lips as a partially nonexistent twinge of her vocal chords. "Something about my mother." Her voice held no tone. Complete, utter monotony.

Altair said nothing.

* * *

Altair was... unsure. Of what to do.

He had watched her face fall, her normally sharp, focused eyes glossing over; like those of a dead man. He'd focused all of his attention on her then.

She was sitting with her legs crossed, elbows resting on the sides of her knees. One hand held her chin in it's palm while the other held the "cigarette" between two fingers, a thin stream of smoke rising from it's edge. Her long golden hair, now brushed, blew softly in the wind. It's wavy tresses shifting in such a fashion they resembled the churning waves of a moonlit ocean. He watched her profile. Her delicate nose and full, pouty lips creating an image of melancholic beauty.

She was truly captivating.

But her eyes. They were his favorite thing about her, he'd found. Such a rare, mesmerizing emerald. But now they were dull as they stared lifelessly into the flames; monotonous.

He wondered just what kind of memory she had recovered that warranted such an immense and immediate change in her mood. Something about her mother, she had said. It must've been unpleasant, he figured. Was she dead? Abusive? Did they share a complicated relationship?

Well, whatever the case, he felt it unnecessary to provide any sort of soothing words or comfort. He was highly inexperienced in the area and he doubted she was the type of woman who took kindly to that sort of thing.

But then again, what did he really know about her? Not much, considering he'd only known her for a week. Not even.

It was a chance encounter, theirs. And she continued to befuddle him with every passing day. The way she spoke. The way she carried herself. Her mannerisms. Her smoking white sticks. She was an enigma to him.

And it positively infuriated him.

Altair was a relatively straightforward and blunt individual, and when things didn't make sense, he made _damn_ sure that they made sense _eventually._

But Ariana's _whole existence_ didn't seem to make sense. And Allah above the whole Amnesia thing was driving him up the wall. How was he supposed to make sense of this woman when she hadn't even known where she was or where she came from? How incredibly frustrating.

And the strange items she had in her bag... Just _who_ is she?

 _What_ is she?

In retrospect, Malik was probably right in the sense that it wasn't a good idea to bring this troublesome woman into the heart of Masyaf; the Assassin's fortress. But it's too late. _Far_ too late.

He's determined now; horribly so. Determined to figure out this woman. Determined to make _sense_ of her.

Oh and he would too. He'd make _damn_ sure of it.

* * *

She awoke the next morning to a sharp pain in her back.

It had been too damn long since she'd slept in a proper bed. Oh, how she missed her Tempurpedic mattress.

She lifted her upper body, resting on her elbows. "Ah God... my fucking _back._ " She muttered quietly to herself.

"Good morning to you too."

Her head swiveled towards Altair, who was stashing supplies into the sacks situated on his horse's saddle.

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards. "Smart ass."

They rode for several hours then before Ariana spoke up over the soft howl of the wind in their ears. "Hey Altair... could we rest for a little while? I think my ass is starting to deteriorate."

He nodded, then smirked at her; amused. "How could something deteriorate that does not exist?" She laughed in earnest.

"I'll have you know that my boyfriend thinks I have a _great_ ass!" She stuck out her tongue at him and his smile fell.

"...Boyfriend?"

 _..._

She mentally smacked herself.

 _Shit! Shit! SHIT!_

She had been so careful! How could she let something so trivial... so _stupid_ , slip like this? She grimaced, her mind working furiously. She opened her mouth to speak then, a hastily formulated lie forming on her lips, but Altair held up a hand, silencing her. He was frowning.

"...We've been surrounded."

Her heart stopped. Surrounded? Surrounded by what? A pack of wolves? Thugs? A group of cannibals? She didn't know what kind of dangers 11th century Israel had to offer, so she immediately feared the worst.

Altair dismounted his horse then, handing her the reins. "Take the horses to the treeline over there." He pointed a finger to the entrance of a thick copse of trees. "Move slowly, and act normal. Do _not_ run." His eyes met hers then. "I will deal with them."

She spoke in a harsh whisper. " _Wait!_ Altair what's going _on_? What's surrounded us?"

He gritted his teeth. "Go! _Now!_ Do as I say if you wish to live!"

Can't really argue with that.

She dismounted then, leading both horses by the reins towards the trees, her heart pounding forcefully in her chest. She tied the reins to a tree and moved behind the trunk, attempting to hide. She leaned out, watching Altair closely. He was standing in the middle of the field, unmoving.

Then, the men appeared.

There were about ten of them; raggedy looking men with scraps for clothes and faces twisted in malice. _Bandits._ They made a circle around Altair, maniacally cackling to each other; most likely at the prospect of taking the life of yet another unsuspecting traveler. They drew their swords and daggers and Ariana felt sick. He was horribly outnumbered! He was going to die!

 _Wait... my Glock..._

She slung her backpack off her shoulder, zipping it open. She searched the inside for her gun, but her attention was diverted when a loud, defiant shout echoed through the valley. There was a clash of steel then, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight before her.

He fought like a demon, his sword a sinister extension of his body with the sole purpose of taking the life of another. Three already now lay dead on the ground, with throats slashed or hearts brutally punctured. It didn't seem to end; the slaughter. He picked them off like insignificant flies, the next execution more brutal than the last. The way he moved... it wasn't human. It was like some kind of otherworldly dance of death. Their pained screams filled her head.

She retrieved her Glock 19 from her backpack then, undoing the safety and cocking it with shaking hands. Whether it was for protection against the bandits or against Altair... that, she did not yet know.

Only two bandits remained now, seemingly the hardier bastards of the bunch. They exchanged blows with Altair in a flurry of parries, moving at a speed her eyes couldn't keep up with. Catching an opening, Altair thrust his sword straight through one of their throats, blood spraying from the man's neck when he removed the weapon with one swift motion.

Everything moved in slow motion then: The last remaining bandit had come up from behind Altair while he was dealing with the last guy and was preparing to swing his axe straight at his back. It would kill him, if the blow connected. And it would connect. It would sever his spinal chord and immediately kill him. That is, unless she did something.

She forcibly calmed her nerves then, putting her pure, unadulterated shock on hot standby.

 _Adjust and deal._

Her hands stopped shaking, and everything went into extreme focus. She came out from behind the tree and aimed the pistol at the bandit's head. Taking a long and slow breath, she pulled the trigger without hesitation. A loud _bang_ resounded through the field, and Altair jerked his body in her direction in surprise, watching the bandit now in front of him fall to his knees, sporting a steaming hole in his forehead.

She lowered the pistol, watching Altair. And he watched her. They were surprised by each other, although in varying degrees.

He walked towards her then, and when he was a mere five feet away she lifted her gun once more, aiming at him. Her eyes flashed with uncertainty.

"Don't come any closer." Her voice was even, hiding well the fact that she was afraid.

 _No... no, I'm not afraid..._

"What _are_ you?"

He was watching her closely, cautiously. "I could ask the same of you."

She faltered slightly, her brave visage waning. She thought for a moment, deciding what to say.

"A deal then... We make a deal." She lowered her Glock to her side. "You tell me your truth and I'll tell you mine."

There was a loud, pregnant pause while he thought. His eyes did not leave hers for a single second.

"Very well."


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter took freakin' forever. I'm still kind of _formulating_ , I guess, in my head where I want to take this story. But surprisingly, I still find myself inspired to keep writing. Depression and numbness is something I'm actually very familiar with, so it's usually pretty challenging to keep my motivation up. It hasn't been a problem so far though, which is really great!  
**

 **So wow... 4th chapter of whatever this is!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of it's characters.**

* * *

 _When Ariana was 14 she was already attending her second year of medical school._

 _She breezed through her classes like they were nothing, earning perfect scores on every test._

 _She was a child prodigy; a genius. She was e_ _xactly what her parents wanted of her._

 _But she was too young. Too young to be a college student. Too young to attend parties. Too young to have sex. But the numbness... it was unbearable. Although in varying degrees depending on the day, it was always there; always present. It was horrible, horrible, horrible. A gaping chasm in her heart and mind. She would do anything and everything she could to simply_ feel. _To fill the hole._ _And so, she would go to the parties, and she would drink herself into oblivion; remaining silent and compliant whenever a man would take her into a private setting to fuck her senseless._

 _How she wished she could feel. She craved it like a hunger that cannot be satisfied, a thirst that cannot be quenched._

 _She never once heard from Evan. Perhaps he was embarrassed of her reputation at the University. Perhaps he disowned her. She didn't really care. The things he'd done to her... She hated him. She hated him._

 _She hated him._

 _So... she did feel after all._ _Hatred. Anger. Apathy._

 _Pain._

 _When Ariana was 18 she completed her studies._

 _She was quick to get a job at a hospital in New York with her astonishing academic performance and flawless transcript._

 _Her coworkers despised her. She was unfriendly and insensitive, and exhibited the same lack of patience her father had. Several of them tried to be nice to her; opening the door for her, bringing her coffee in the morning, trying for casual conversation. But she was a tightly sealed door, with walls a mile thick built around it. There was no friendship or camaraderie to be found with Dr. Weiss. So they detested her, and she knew it too.  
_

 _They could not, however, help but admire her fierce intelligence._

 _When Ariana was 21 she worked her way up to becoming the head of Diagnostics at the hospital. She grew more empathetic as the years passed, more patient. Her relationships, although entirely political, she contributed towards more. A master manipulator, she became. Able to bend and twist her peers' thoughts and opinions of her. A fake.  
_

 _She often asked herself what the point of living was if all she was living was a lie. She harbored no meaningful relationships, and she felt no emotion, no passion for what she did. So why? Why did she continue to live a life that meant nothing?_

 _It was on her 21st birthday that she met William._

 _She had gone to a local bar after a long day of work, planning on getting nice and drunk now that she was legal. Not that her age had stopped her from consuming alcohol in the past._

 _She was sitting on a stool at the bar, smoking a cigarette, while the soft tremble of a saxophone hummed in the background. She was watching the bartender prepare her drink when a man approached._

 _He plopped down on the seat next to her, leaning into her personal space. "You know smoking is bad for you right?"_

 _She shot him a look from the corner of her eye, her head unmoving, then looked forward once more. She huffed. She'd been hit on several times in the past, and the instances always ended the same: with her being purposefully nasty, and the guy calling her a spiteful bitch before moving on._

 _She sneered then, her lip curling. "Certainly not as bad for me as your presence."_

 _He chuckled softly. His voice was deep. So deep. She swore she could feel it's smooth rumble vibrate in her stomach. "My, my. I really must've made a bad first impression. I guess an icebreaker isn't supposed to sound judgemental. I apologize, it definitely sounded a lot better in my head." She turned her head then to look at him. He looked to be around her age, probably older by a few years. Mid-twenties she guessed. He was handsome, with hair a charcoal black and eyes an icy blue. He had a strong, sharp face, with the beginnings of a beard and mustache dusting the tip of his prominent chin and just above his upper lip._

 _It was so cliche, the whole scenario. And she could not help but feel amused. Maybe it was the alcohol already in her system._

 _"So you've come to ask me if you can buy me a drink then, yes? Well, save your breath, I've already got a drink on the way." She looked back to the bartender who then handed her a glass of gin and tonic. She took a swig, cringing inwardly as the bitter liquid slid harshly down her throat._

 _He was smiling. "Allow me to buy you another drink then."_

 _How strange. Usually they'd move on by now, ultimately deciding that she was a lost cause and most likely as much of a horror in bed as she was to associate with. She shrugged, surprised slightly, and finding it not worth the energy to drive him off. "Hm. Won't turn down a free drink. It is my birthday after all."_

 _And so they sat there together for several hours. The man, whose name she'd learned was William, told her stories of his life and his job. He was an artist, a painter. He spoke to her of his inspirations and philosophies, to which she would drunkenly debate with him on. They chatted endlessly that night, about everything and nothing, all the while getting more and more intoxicated. Before either of them knew it, they were in the back of the bar sloppily making out, unsatisfied hands sifting and searching the other's body relentlessly. He had invited her then to his apartment, and she accepted._

 _She felt, that night. When his hands roamed over her naked form, and his mouth caressed hers in such a way that she was melting under him. She felt that night, and she could not have asked for a better birthday present._

 _She awoke the next morning before him, slowly and carefully untangling herself from his sleeping body. She sat on the edge of the bed then, spending a good 30 minutes contemplating on whether or not she should leave her number. She'd had one night stands before, but she always, always, always awoke first, and she would never leave her number. Never. But this William guy... He was... different, somehow._

 _After she had come to the consensus that she would, in fact, leave her number, she slipped a small piece of paper under his pillow and exited the apartment as quietly as possible._

 _What a pain. Her head was pounding from a hangover and she had work in 20 minutes._

 _She thought of William as she walked towards the hospital building. He had made her feel. That's what made him different. He'd made her feel. Feel good._ Really _good._

 _She wanted to marry him._

* * *

They were seated on a rock overlooking a beautiful mountain range, a decent amount of space between them. Ariana held her Glock 19 in her lap, prepared and ready to whip it out and shoot if need be. She was anxiously waiting for Altair to speak, but there was silence. Nothing but fucking silence. The tension was so tight, it choked her, closing around her throat like a noose.

 _Maybe I should just shoot him._

He seemed to sense her apprehension, for he then turned to look at her. "I am an Assassin." He spoke suddenly and she visibly jolted from the noise.

She returned his stare, incredulous. "A what? An Assassin? ...Ah, Jesus." She ran a hand down her face and sighed. So Mystery-Man-Altair was a hired sword. A hitman. A murderer.

An Assassin.

Well, that certainly explained why he had so many weapons, the seemingly effortless way he murdered people, and the strange attire. "So... what? People pay you to kill other people?"

He was still staring at her, most likely gauging her reaction. "No. I do not kill for money. I fight for a cause."

"A cause? What type of cause?"

A pause. "You... you do not know of the Assassin's brotherhood..." It was a statement, but was posed as a question waiting for confirmation.

And confirm, she would. "No. I do not," She directed her gaze to the mountain range ahead. "But I... I want to know."

And so he told her. He told her everything and she did not know why. He told her of the long lasting war between the Assassins and the Templars. He told her of the First Civilization, and of the Pieces of Eden. He told her how the Templars would not stop until every last Piece of Eden was within their grasp, allowing them to take complete control over the minds of all. He told her of the Assassin's order, and how they lived each day to stop the Templars and their nefarious conquests. She uttered not a word while he spoke, listening intently, her brain soaking in his words like a sponge. By the time he had finished, the sun was beginning to drop, and early evening was upon them. Her mind was reeling with all of the newfound information.

She was silent; processing.

"Why? Why... tell me all this? What reason do you have to trust me?" She finally asked, turning to look at him.

"You deserve to know if you are to work for us-" He paused. "-and I do not necessarily _trust_ you. Not yet, anyway. I am counting on ending your life personally should you choose to betray us."

 _Oh, lovely._

Altair didn't wait for her response before he immediately followed up with: "I have given you my truth. Now it is your turn." He looked at her expectantly.

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, annoyed. So much for his _astounding_ patience _._

Her annoyance quickly shifted to anxiety. How was she to tell him of her predicament? There's no way he's going to believe her... Although, he spoke of these _Pieces of Eden_ as if they were objects with supernatural properties. If he were to believe in the supernatural... then perhaps he wouldn't find her situation completely incomprehensible. She would tell him. Yes... she'd tell him everything just as he had for her.

Unlike him, she decided not to make him wait for centuries to reply. "Altair... I don't actually have Amnesia..." She wrung her hands, refusing to look at him. "I don't belong here. I-I... I'm... I'm not from... this time. I was born on June 1... 1994."

He said nothing.

"Not everything I told you was a lie." She spoke quickly. "I actually did awaken in a cart of hay with no idea of where I was." She let a short, clipped laugh then. "Truthfully, at first I thought I was in Hell."

"In hell?" He replied slowly; thoroughly confused, and certainly not amused.

Her smile fell. "Yeah... Hell." She debated furiously within herself on whether or not she should include the fact that she had tried to commit suicide.

She would tell him, she decided. She was so damn tired of keeping secrets, and there wasn't really much left to lose. "I jumped from my apartment balcony in an attempt to kill myself. That's how I got here." Her eyes unfocused. "I was supposed to hit solid concrete and die instantly, but I guess I fell through some kind of... some kind of... time glitch... straight into a cart of hay in 11th century Israel." The words came out quietly, almost _timid._ They fell from her mouth like bricks, piling weight onto the already heavy atmosphere. She wanted to disappear.

There was a loud, horribly loud silence before Altair spoke, and it screamed in her ears relentlessly, whispering promises of release if she were to just aim the Glock at her head and pull the trigger. "You... you attempted to take your own life... Why?" His voice was equally quiet; solemn.

"Freedom." She blurted out, unthinking. The word was seemingly always at the forefront of her subconscious. "I've spent my entire life learning new things, and I know so much... but I feel... nothing. My boyfriend calls me a sociopath, and I probably am." She exhaled; long and shaky. "Release, I think, is what I was looking for. Freedom from this...this numbness. My life has no real meaning, I am... nothing."

The words continued to flow, a dam inside her heart seeming to break. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I hardly know you. My whole life I spoke to no one about this..." Her voice lost it's even tone, steadily becoming more and more unhinged. "Why? Why am I able to tell you this? A fucking Assassin. In 11th century Israel." She laughed bitterly, throwing her hands up. "Unbelievable."

She turned to look at him then, her eyes glimmering with many years' worth of unshed tears. "I don't expect you to believe me, but I... I'm lost. A-and I'm scared. I'm actually _scared._ I haven't felt such raw emotion for God knows how long." She looked down at her hands, which were shaking ever so slightly. "Please Altair..." She gritted her teeth. Her pride making the next words extremely difficult to form. She forced them out, her voice straining with effort. "I...I-I need your help. I don't know how... h-how I am here..."

How pathetic a sight she must've been. Her coworkers would've been dumbfounded; stunned. Dr. Weiss, a woman known for her fierce independence, iron will, and unbreakable wall of self-control; reduced to a scared, stuttering mess pleading for help. It may very well have been the first time that she'd asked for help from another human being.

There was the horrible silence again as she waited for a response. But the silence was too long, too drawn out. Something akin to the sharp pierce of a knife seared through her heart at the realization that he probably wasn't going to reply. He thought she was out of her mind, she assumed, and was waiting patiently for her to fuck off.

Something inside her shifted violently, and her moment of vulnerability was gone in an instant. The numbness washed over her in sickening waves and she felt the carefully built walls arise once more around her heart, the pain fading to a dull ache. She would never make the mistake of telling her truth ever again.

She stood up slowly then, and turned to leave. She would find another means to survive.

But why? Why did she have such a strong internal desire to survive? For what purpose? Nothing mattered to her. She felt nothing. She was nothing.

She hadn't even taken one step before a strong hand grasped at her wrist with iron fingers and her gloomy thoughts vanished into thin air as though blown away by a gust of wind.

"I believe you." His voice was loud and stern, as if he was insulted that she'd think anything different. "I believe you."

She felt a crack form in her walls then. A tiny, minuscule sliver of an imperfection in the metaphorical concrete. Ah yes... she remembered why. She remembered why she wished to stay. Wished to live. The corners of her lips quirked.

"So what now, Assassin?"

He stood then, naught but a foot or so away from her, his iron grip still latched onto her wrist. Amber met emerald, and she wondered how she could have ever forgotten the breathtaking beauty of his eyes.

"For now, we keep going. Masyaf is only a day's ride yet."

* * *

They rode into Masyaf not a day later, and Ariana was speechless.

Masyaf was truly a sight to be seen; beautiful beyond words. With proud, cloud covered mountains protruding in the background, and strong, exquisite buildings built to last for many years. Citizens mulled about, going about their everyday lives, creating a dense population of traffic on the path that led up to the fortress. The fortress was another story entirely. It's noble structure casting an imposing shadow over the land that seemingly stretched for miles. It was an incredible sight, absolutely incredible.

Ariana voiced as much. "It's so beautiful..." She breathed. Altair smirked at her.

They left their horses at the stables then and continued the trek upwards on foot, and Ariana couldn't help but feel grateful to get her legs moving.

People stared at her as she passed. She was used to people staring at her; she was a beautiful young woman who radiated power and confidence, but where she normally would've felt nothing, she felt... apprehension. She wrung her hands. The stares... they were not out of awe or curiosity. They were more like... _glares_. Something clicked in her mind.

"My hair... Should I cover it?" She looked at Altair anxiously.

"Only if you wish to. Do not worry about the people, they will get used to your face with time."

 _With time?_ Ah, that's right. She was to live here. To work in the infirmary. Something fluttered within her chest. Anticipation? Unease? Excitement?

By God, she couldn't remember the last time she felt excited about anything.

As they neared the entrance to the fortress, Altair grasped her upper arm, bringing them both to a halt. He leaned towards her and spoke with a low and hushed voice.

"You mustn't share with anyone what you have told me... Not yet. As of now, Al Mualim believes you have Amnesia, so continue to act as though you do." He gave her a pat on the shoulder. "Just keep doing what you were doing. You are a good actor, you had Malik and I both completely fooled."

She smiled and gave him a salute. "Yes, sir."

Just then, a man emerged from the entrance, approaching them with long strides. He wore familiar white robes.

"Altair... so you have returned." The man gave him a small nod in greeting, then directed his gaze to Ariana. "This must be the woman Malik mentioned in his letter," He eyed her up and down like she was a piece of meat and she couldn't hold back her sneer. "He did not mention, however, how beautiful she was." His dark eyes shot her a lewd look, and her stomach turned with disgust. "Such fair hair..." She was about to give him a piece of her mind when Altair's voice interrupted her.

"Certainly you have not come here to give us a warm welcome, Abbas." Altair said, his voice sharp and threatening. The man, Abbas, rolled his eyes.

"Al Mualim wishes to see her. He is up in his library."

Altair shoved past Abbas then, gesturing for her to follow. "Come, I will lead you to him." She followed.

White-robed men. Everywhere. They were everywhere, and she could feel their eyes on her. She felt, then. Overwhelmed. Intimidated. Unnerved.

She followed just a step behind Altair, keeping her eyes trained on his back, refusing to look elsewhere out of... what... fear? No... it wasn't fear.

 _Or was it?_

Before she could put her finger on what emotion exactly, she was feeling, they ascended a long set of stairs. The emotion heightened tenfold then. She was about to encounter Al Mualim. The Mentor. The Master.

The leader of this... this highly organized group of Assassins.

 _I am..._

 _Afraid._

When they reached the top she saw him. He was an old man, hunched over a desk writing something with ink and quill. He lifted his head then, to look at her. They inspected each other closely.

He had a long white beard, with equally white busy eyebrows. A sharp, protruding nose poked out from beneath his dark hood and a scar marred his right eye, which was milky from either blindness or a cataract. Although he was old, she knew for a fact that he could most likely kill her in five seconds flat if he wanted. She was afraid, yes... but she hid it well. Very well.

"Ah... you must be Ariana..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again! This chapter seemed to flow a lot easier than the others, and I honestly think that will be the case from here on out with future chapters. I think I was struggling on kind of the _transition_ from Ariana's awakening to actually _being_ at Masyaf. A lot of what I've played out in my head for this story occurs there.**

 **I've started my first semester of college so I don't know how frequent the chapters will be, but I'm definitely not about to stop. I'm still thoroughly enjoying myself doing this. Which is surprising to me because I usually have a hard time finding and especially keeping motivation for "artistic" endeavors.**

 **Anyways, thank you so much to the people that left such kind reviews. I'm not even lying when I say each one makes my day.**

 **I still don't know what the hell I'm doing.**

 **Enjoy! :)**

* * *

"Ah... you must be Ariana..."

His voice was deep and wise, and if she had ran into him on the streets of New York she would've thought him a kind old man. She opened her mouth to speak then, but stopped herself instantly, the words dying her tongue. How exactly, did she want this man to view her? Just what kind of persona would benefit her the most? The gears in her brain spun frantically.

Based on her impression of him, and supporting outside knowledge and facts, he was not a man to be reckoned with. He had the upmost respect, and probably fear, of most if not all his men. They called him _master_ and _mentor_ for fuck's sake. She figured he wouldn't take too kindly to her addressing him with any semblance of disrespect.

As such, she ultimately opted out of acting too snarky or sarcastic. Although, he was old, and would most likely appreciate just a _little_ bit of push back after dealing with willing and loyal dogs that bend to his every whim day in and day out. She'd address him in a way that wouldn't be disrespectful inherently but rather, familiar. Yes...she'd challenge him, but not enough to anger or annoy him. She had a feeling that this man tended to like things that interested him, and she could be plenty interesting.

 _So...let's see what I've got to work with here: I'm a European woman with Amnesia with no recollection of who I am or where I'm from. I do, however, remember how to heal shit, hence why I'm here. I'm lost and confused, if not a little scared... No, no. I doubt this guy is one for pity. Should I act like a passive aggressive bitch? Hmm no...I think I'll go for low-key bitch. Yeah...I like that. Indifferent, low-key bitch.  
_

She stood up tall and straight and looked him right in the eye, any semblance of fear completely gone. She stomped on any and all remaining emotion and felt nothing once again, her previous pessimistic mindset returned full-force.

 _If he chooses to kill me...so be it.  
_

"Indeed, I am." She clasped her hands in front of her. "And you must be Al Mualim." Her tone was friendly, but held an edge that was so slight, only the trained ear of one who has seen many years and dealt with many people could've detected it.

One of the old man's eyebrows shot up and he let out a light chuckle. He watched her for a moment with genuine curiosity, and she could see the internal debate of whether or not he should be offended run rampant across his facial features. She smiled, although it was exaggerated and fake, if not sarcastic.

Al Mualim leaned forward on his arms, palms splayed on the surface of his desk. He too, she noted, was missing a ring finger.

 _How odd..._

"A highly skilled healer with lost memory...and a woman no less... You have saved the life of my best Assassin. I believe thanks are in order."

She held up a hand, emulating what Altair had once done to her. "You needn't thank me. If anything, it is I that should be thanking _you_ for giving me the chance to work and earn a living until my memory is somehow restored." _Potentially. Nothing is set in stone just yet.  
_

A pause. "I presume you have been filled in on what it is exactly, that we do here?"

"I have."

"And I presume you understand that any breach in confidentiality could result in your death?"

"I do."

He stood up to his full height then, clasping his hands behind his back. "Tell me why I should entrust the lives of my men to you, Miss Ariana."

 _I'm a fucking genius, old man. What is this? A fucking job interview?_

Well, essentially it kind of was.

Good thing she was a master bullshitter.

The words flowed out of her like honey then, her voice just as sweet and convincing. "Although I don't remember where I came from, who I really am, and how I got here, I have all of this...this _knowledge_ about healing and herbal medicine. I know how to mix antidotes, along with poisons, and I know how to properly treat lacerations, which I'm sure happens quite frequently considering the occupation of your...brotherhood." She wrung her hands. "As for why you should trust me...well, let's put it in perspective shall we? I am clearly a person of European descent and, as you said, a _woman_ , so clearly, anyone from the outside looking in can reasonably assume that I most likely have ill intentions. I mean, what kind of business would a European woman have in Israel during these trying times? Nothing good, your average person would say. So inherently, I'm at a disadvantage in that sense." She paused and tapped her chin, a thoughtful look on her face. "I'm also horribly surrounded. And not by just any old group of grisly bandits. By _Assassins._ Men trained from a very young age to hunt people down and _murder_ them. I'd have to be a special kind of dumbass to give away any information, truly." She jerked a thumb towards Altair. "Also, your boy Altair made me a promise that he'd personally end my life if I were to betray the creed in any way, shape, or form."

"In conclusion; it's really just a matter of logic and common sense. Because you hold an advantage over me in every sense of the word, you can trust I won't spill." She crossed her arms then, gauging Al Mualim's reaction. "Oh, and I'll take care of your men the best that I can, yadda yadda."

She'd somehow managed to render him speechless. He stood there, still as a statue, eyes wide and full of surprise. A small sense of victory stoked the flames of the now blazing bonfire that was her pride.

It was completely silent for a moment, the atmosphere stunned, before Al Mualim burst out into deep, throaty laughs. She smiled in response, and was surprised to find that it was genuine.

He laughed for a moment longer before replying. "How incredibly amusing. Never in my 57 years have I heard a woman speak in such a manner." He let out an amused sigh. "I give you my permission to live and work here. Malik's letter describes that you are talented. Extraordinarily so." He began to pace behind his desk. "We have someone already working the infirmary; Zahir, but he works long and hard. Sometimes I fear the poor boy will keel over before his patients." He stopped mid stride to look at her. "That is where you come in. You will work alongside Zahir in the infirmary, and in return, I will provide you with food and shelter."

She watched him with a calculating gaze, then shrugged, her tone flat when she spoke. "Works for me."

It was such a nonchalant and anticlimactic answer after such a gracious offer and if she were a fly on the wall she probably would've laughed. She really was pushing it.

He beckoned then, with a wave of his hand to another white-robed hooded man who promptly stepped forward.

"Kahlil, show our new healer the way to the infirmary." The man nodded and gestured for her to follow. She shot Altair a look, but he just nodded his head curtly, urging her onward.

 _I'll meet up with you later._

Reluctantly, she followed Kahlil.

She heard Al Mualim's voice then. It echoed throughout the library as she descended the stairs.

"Altair, I wish to speak with you. Step forward, boy."

She frowned. _Oh God, I hope I didn't make him look bad or something..._ A feeling of guilt washed over her then, and the urge to stay back and eavesdrop was strong, but unfortunately she had an escort that would be unwise to ditch after she had just gotten accepted.

She quickened her pace slightly to walk beside said escort; Kahlil. She looked up into his hood, attempting to get a look at his face, and of what she could see, he was frowning.

"You don't like me."

His head snapped in her direction, and she caught an angry glint to his eyes.

"How very astute of you. No, I do not _like_ you."

They walk in silence for a moment before: "What was it then, hm? The disrespect or the hair?"

" _What?_ "

"What was it that influenced your opinion of me?" She repeated.

He actually stopped for a second to gawk at her in disbelief. "You...you-"

"-I mean, I can understand the inappropriate way in which I addressed your master and all, but my hair? Are you really immediately going to judge me based on the color of my hair?" She laughed at the sheer irony of her making such a statement after what she had _just_ said to Al Mualim; about her very _white_ presence in Israel being inherently suspicious. At this point, she was just fucking with him for the hell of it. "Although...as I had previously said, I guess the whites are kinda fucking your shit up right now... Hm. I retract my question, I totally get why you don't like me." She smiled at him, wide and toothy and he looked at her like she was batshit insane.

They walked in silence down a long corridor lit by torches and she could actually _feel_ the discomfort emanating off of him.

 _Wow. He really doesn't like me._

Kahlil stopped abruptly then by a pair of large wooden doors. A white banner with a red plus in the middle hung above them. He turned to face her then, his frown somehow more pronounced than before.

"This is the infirmary. I will let you introduce yourself to Zahir." He turned to leave then, muttering, "Poor bastard." under his breath as he walked away.

She smiled to herself as she hefted open one of the doors. The smile promptly died as quickly as it was born.

Her first thought at the sight of the place: _Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me._

It couldn't possibly be worse. Inside, several wood-framed cots lined one of the cracking stone walls, with dirty, _disgusting_ looking bed pads resting on each cot. There was a long table on the opposite side, with a disorganized mess of supplies, books, and other items adorning its surface. Several withering wooden cupboards and cabinets overflowing with medical supplies took up any other unoccupied space, and a large heap of bloody rags and towels rested in the far left corner. Not to mention the smell. It smelled like shit.

She was about to have an aneurysm. It was all so...so...unsanitary. So unorganized. Such a fucking _mess._

She was used to the smell of antiseptic and the crisp, clean halls of her hospital. The hospital beds renewed with clean sheets after each use, the floors constantly mopped, and the safe, _consistent_ disposal of contaminated materials. Cabinets neatly organized and supplies stashed accordingly. She was used to a clean, organized, and _sterile_ environment. So naturally, this...this was _appalling._

There was a tall, lanky man in a blood-stained tunic wrapping the lower leg of a boy lying on one the cots. The boy was grimacing, his teeth clenched tightly, hissing every now and then when the bandage made another rotation. His leg...it was broken. So much to the point that she could visibly see the abnormal bend of his calf. Beads of sweat dripped off the tip of his chin. He was in pain. A _lot_ of pain. Emotion flooded through her veins then.

Shock. Disgust. Anger.

She rushed forward, letting her backpack slide off her shoulders and onto the ground.

"What the hell are you _doing_? Simply wrapping his leg isn't going to magically mend the bone! It needs to be set, dammit!" She was seething. A giant-ass fortress full of _Assassins_ , and _this_ was their only healer?

 _Jesus, Altair wasn't kidding when he said this guy was an amateur._

The man with the bloody tunic whom she assumed was Zahir looked up at her sheepishly and actually _winced._

"I-I do not know how to set a broken bone."

She scoffed and threw her hands up. _Unbelievable._ "Well then, step aside and _watch._ " He stepped backwards, watching as she undid the leg's wrapping with incredible speed. She grabbed the boy's calf with careful and gentle hands, inspecting the break closely. It was bad, but not messy. A clean break, she surmised, which was lucky. She voiced her thoughts out loud so Zahir could hear them.

The skin around the break was a sickening blend of reds, blues, and purples. This was gonna be one hell of a painful set, especially since anesthetics and painkillers didn't exist yet.

She cursed under her breath. Zahir and the boy on the cot looked at her desperately.

She looked at the boy. "I'm gonna need to set this bone, okay? And believe me when I tell you, it's going to be one of the worst pains you'll ever feel." His eyes went wide with fear and he started to hyperventilate. It was her turn now to wince. _Oops._ She never was good at sugar coating things...

It'd been a while since she'd actually _dealt_ with a patient.

"Relax, you'll only feel it the moment I shift the bone." She ripped a piece of fabric off of the discarded strand of bandage and held it out to him. "Bite this, it'll help you focus your energy elsewhere and hopefully distract you from the pain. We also don't want you fucking up your jaw or breaking your teeth from the strain."

The boy complied, beads of sweat rolling down his face.

She gripped his calf again, expertly trained fingers feeling around the break. It had been a long time since she'd set a broken bone, but once she learned something, she never forgot.

The boy was still hyperventilating and was now shaking from fear. _Fuck._ He was having a panic attack. He needed to calm down.

She removed her hands from his calf, turning her full attention to his face. He couldn't have been older than 15. "What's your name?" She asked, her voice gentle and soothing.

"Th-Thamar..." He gasped out in between breaths, his lips trembling.

"Thamar...listen closely. If I'm to do this, I need you to calm down, alright? I can't have you moving around." He nodded, but didn't show any signs of improvement. "Thamar, look at me." His eyes flicked to hers, tears pooling at the rims of his lower eyelids. She grabbed his hand and rubbed small circles on his knuckles with her thumb. "You're going to be just fine. I promise the pain will only last for one second, okay? Now, I want you to inhale nice and deep, and exhale while counting to three." She did as such a couple of times to show him. "Can you do that for me, Thamar?"

He nodded and started the exercise. She counted with him, still gently holding his hand.

After a couple of minutes his breathing slowly evened out and he generally looked a lot less on edge.

"It's time, Thamar. Are you ready?" He nodded again. "Alright, I'm going to count down from 3, and once I get to one I'm going to set the bone, okay?" Another nod.

"Okay..." She grabbed his calf then, positioning her hands correctly for a clean set. "Here we go Thamar, you're doing great."

"3..."

"2..."

"1."

She jerked her hands forcefully then, and a sickening _crack_ resounded through the infirmary. Then a scream; a loud, punctuated shriek of sheer pain seared her eardrums and she had to fight back a flinch. She held the now set calf with firm fingers and turned to Zahir, who was still hovering behind her. "A splint! Get me a splint!" He rushed off without another word, sifting through the many cabinets. She very slowly lowered Thamar's leg onto the cot, who was now leaning his head back against the wall, breathing heavily.

She patted his good leg and smiled. "That was awesome. You're very brave." He smiled weakly, his face still slick with perspiration.

Zahir handed her two long pieces of wood then, and a roll of thick bandage. "Hold his leg up," she ordered, "and for the love of all that is holy, _please_ be careful." He did as such and she began to wrap the thick cloth around the two pieces of wood that were situated on each side of his leg. It took her around 30 minutes to wrap the leg to her satisfaction, and when she was done, she sat back and sighed, sweat now percolating on the crown of her forehead.

"There. That oughta hold up for a while. Now...about the pain." She stood up, grabbing her discarded backpack while making her way over to the long table on the opposite wall. She cleared a space with a swipe of her arm, emptied out her stash of herbs, and started to prepare what she liked to call, " _The Pain Bomb_ ". A small ball of herbs of her own creation that when chewed and swallowed, seemed to _bomb_ any and all pain away almost too suddenly. Zahir watched her closely as she utilized a relatively clean nearby medicine bowl to crush and mix the plants together. She rolled the mixture in between her palms then until they formed into a nice, compact ball. She went back to Thamar, who was still recovering, and held out the ball to him.

"Chew this well and swallow." He took it and popped it into his mouth, chewing and then gagging from the taste. "I know, I know. Try to bear with the taste." Thamar swallowed then, and his facial features immediately began to relax. Yeah, it worked _that_ fast.

"You are- I mean... That...that was amazing." Zahir spoke from behind her, and she turned to face him.

"It wasn't that impressive. But thank you." She held out her hand, which Zahir shook without hesitation. "It's good to meet you Zahir."

He smiled wide at her, and she finally took in his appearance. He was tall...like, _really_ tall, but very lanky and slender. His skin was a smooth bronze and he had a full head of black hair. He looked young, potentially younger than her. His face was long and angular, and kind of reminded her of bird. Dark, kind eyes looked down at her beneath a thick pair of black eyebrows. "The pleasure is all mine."

"I guess I should properly introduce myself. I'm-"

"-Miss Ariana. They have already informed me of your situation." His smile fell. "Amnesia, eh? I am sorry to hear about that, truly. I only wish I could help somehow."

She sighed. "That's alright. I think it just needs time... My brain, that is." She sat down on one of the cots and looked up at him, scrutinizing. "Now, would you mind telling me why the _fuck_ the main healer of this fortress doesn't know how to set a bone?"

Zahir cringed. "It is true I am the only healer at the moment, but I am actually still learning. I spent the majority of my childhood training to be an Assassin just like everyone else...but it was not what I wanted. I chose a different path. A little late in the game, but better late than never, yes?"

She stared ahead for a moment. _It was not what I wanted,_ he had said. Her thoughts swirled in her head raucously, creating a whirlpool of self-pity, sadness, and anger. She contemplated on using up one of her remaining cigarettes.

"Yes. Better late than never, indeed." She clasped her hands together, elbows resting on her knees. "Don't worry Zahir, I'll teach you all that I know."

"Will you, really?" His voice was high and hopeful and reminded her of a child. She smirked.

"Yeah. You and this entire damn fortress would be fucking hopeless without me.


End file.
